


Show and Tell

by theyleftherbones



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 12:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10278443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyleftherbones/pseuds/theyleftherbones
Summary: Aaron volunteers to join Rick and Michonne on their next scavenging trip and, despite his good intentions and their best efforts, they’re both far from pleased.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes my first foray into the Richonne fandom—I can only hope I did the fabulous pairing justice!   
> Spoilers for 7x12.

“I could’ve gone a couple more days. I would have liked that,” Rick had said.

And, if she’s honest with herself, she would have to.

If she’s honest with herself (and she has no reason not to be at this stage), she doesn’t think she’s had what she has with Rick with anyone else. Mike came close during the good days, she thinks, but it didn’t stick.

When things fell apart, Mike fell apart with them, and there was no bringing him back—not for anything or anyone.

That’s not to say that Rick hasn’t had his fall from grace, more than once by all accounts; but he always came back (to Carl and Judith, to the group, to _her_ ).

The time they spent on the road, alone, _together_ , only served to cement her belief that this was it for the both of them. The things he said, the things they did—it was what she wanted that, again and again and again.

And so, when Aaron volunteers to join them on their next scavenging trip, Michonne’s heart drops in a way that doesn’t quite surprise her.

It makes sense that he’d want to come, makes sense that they seek they increase their numbers on these runs because, as capable as the two of them are, there are a myriad of things that can go wrong without another pair of eyes.

But, there’s so much more that can go _right_ when it’s just the two of them.

It takes her mere seconds to see that Rick feels the same way.

He’s quiet throughout the day, supplying her with little more than small smiles and short answers when prompted with questions, clearly lost in thoughts she isn’t privy to just yet.

It isn’t until she’s put Judith to sleep and joined him in the kitchen that she’s finally awarded with the clarity she’s craving.

He has two of the ready-to-eat meals they found laid out with a single candle between them, an arrangement that pulls something at the pit of her stomach. Who would have guessed that Rick Grimes was a romantic of the highest caliber after all?

“We really hit the jackpot that day, didn’t we?” She smiles, seeking to lighten the mood before prying.

“Yeah, we did,” he says.

_In more ways than one_ , she thinks, but does not say.

“Aaron wants to join us, one our next run,” he says after a few moments of silence.

She stops chewing almost instantly, and looks up to find him watching her. She wonders if he can see the enormous pit that just landed in her stomach, the disappointment that settles into the back of her throat.

“What did you tell him?” She asks with a casualness that she does not feel.

“What could I tell him?”

And he’s right, he is. How were they to turn away help they so desperately needed?

“Well, the more, the merrier, right?”

“No,” he simply states.

“Rick…”

“I know, I know. I’m being selfish,” he shakes his head, and her palm finds its way to his cheek before her mind directs it. “It’s just… it was good. Just the two of us, doing our thang out there. I liked that.”

“I did too,” she admits.

They’re silent for a few moments, his head bowed in what she knows is a keen disappointment.

Suddenly, before she spares a thought for what she’s doing, she leans closer to him, close enough that she can bring her lips right against his ear.

“You know what else I like?” She whispers, her lips brushing against the lobe in a way that draws a deep sigh from him.

“What?” He asks without turning to her, eyes closed and breathing heavy as she buries her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck (the way she knows he likes).

“This,” she tilts her head to the side, and presses her lips over his own, an invitation he’s clearly been waiting for if the way he instantly deepens the kiss is any indication.

They stay like that for a while, exploring each other in the leisurely way she’s grown to love until he pulls back, forehead resting against hers while his hands cup her face as if it’s the most precious thing that’s ever stood between them.

“What else--what else do you like?” He pants, and she can already feel herself growing wet.

She spares a brief thought for the fact that Carl isn’t home, and can potentially walk in on them any minute, before throwing caution to the wind.

She cups him though his jeans, and it’s obvious that she isn’t the only one who’s getting worked up. His constant hunger for her is another thing her body is still adjusting to, the intensity of it--the sheer _frequency_.

She’s stoking him now, and she can feel him growing harder still as her palm traces the length of him. He places his hand over her own, putting an end to her ministrations. It jars her enough that she tilts her head back so she can get a good look at him.

“Tell me what you like,” He says again, voice still raspy, but more than a whisper.

She swallows, unsure how to proceed. She’s no stranger to heated sex, far from it, but words don’t normally play a role. How can she tell him that she likes ( _loves_ ) him, every brush of his hand, every kiss, every inch of him sliding in and out of her?

“You,” she simply states.

His eyes soften and, just like that, he’s kissing her again, nearly frantic in his movements before he wraps both hands around her waist and places her on the table directly before him.

His heat emboldens her, and the moment she’s able to break the kiss, she speaks.

“I like the way you look at me,” she whispers, and he pulls back to study her with hooded eyes, travelling from the planes of her face, to the exposed skin of her chest just above the opening of her tank top.

He takes his seat again, confusing her momentarily before he speaks.

“Show me then,” he gestures to her shirt, no doubt promoting her to remove it.

She doesn’t need to be asked twice, pulls it over her head in one swift motion, and is left in nothing but her black lace bra and his eyes mapping out a heated trail over her bare skin.

When his eyes meet hers again, she’s already undoing her bra, one quick click before she’s pulling the straps off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

He swallows then, and she knows it’s taking everything he has not to lay her across the table and bury himself inside her then and there.

She makes quick work of her jeans next (though she needs to stand for this one, close enough that he’d barely have to reach forward to touch her), but something keeps her from moving right to her underwear.

When Rick senses her hesitation, he gestures to her mid-section, wordlessly prompting her to remove them like she did everything else.

But something is still holding her back, keeping her from treading past the full-blooded state of exposure eliminating the garment will leave her in.

As if sensing her hesitation, Rick wraps both his hands around her waist, drawing her nearer.

He places an open-mouthed kiss on each of her breasts, the feel of his tongue and the scrape of his beard eliciting a quiet moan from her. He kisses his way down her stomach, all the way down to her navel, where he plants another kiss through the fabric of her underwear.

He wraps two fingers around the thin fabric, slowly drawing it down her legs until she’s lifting one foot, and then the other, to be rid of it completely.

He wastes no time in setting her atop the table again, drawing her legs wide open so he can stare right at her center, so two of his fingers can rub against the wetness of her lips and drive her mad with the need of him. The heat she feels blooming across her cheeks is almost unbearable.

“Rick—“

“You like that?” he drawls, his breathing just as heavy as hers.

“Yes—oh, yes,” she moans.

He sticks both fingers inside her then, pulls them in and out with the sound of her wetness making the gesture seem almost obscene.

She pulls him in for an open-mouthed kiss, while his fingers work to drive her mad. He curls them inside her, just the way she likes, and her moans between kisses are growing louder than she’d normally let them.

She needs him, all of him, _now_.

It’s with that resolve that she begins undoing his belt, her hands moving with a practiced precision that her mind can’t quite mimic.

When she pulls the length of him out, long and hard, she begins stroking him just way she knows he likes. She’s awarded with a long sigh and a shudder that has him breaking this kiss.

“Michonne—“

It’s his turn to find himself at a loss for words, and it has her smiling. She seizes the moment.

“I like when every inch of you is inside me,” she whispers against his ear, and, vaguely, she thinks that this may be the most brazen thing she’s ever said to a man.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, before raising both her thighs, pulling her against him, and sliding the entire length of his cock into her with one solid thrust.

She gasps, her head falling back while his lips latch onto her neck, sucking and biting as he’s thrusting in and out of her, fast and hard and _desperate_.  

“It’s good?” he pants against her, and it takes a few moments for the words to register with her.

“Yes, so—so good,” she moans back.

It doesn’t take more than a few trusts to have her coming undone, the angle and the work his fingers put in before paying off in the best of ways.

She stifles her small scream against his lips, still taken aback by the desperate sounds he manages to draw from her. 

He comes undone very soon after, pulling out just in time, his seed a stark contrast against the skin of her abdomen.

He grabs the nearest cloth and begins cleaning them both up, as is his habit, head bowed and eyes focused on his work. She succumbs to the urge to pull him in for a kiss on the cheek, his stubble prickling the skin of her lips in a way she’s grown to love.

 “Next time,” She whispers, “you’re going to tell me what you like.”

 

~ 


End file.
